An Angel Wears Hightops [A Sequel to The Devil Wears Girl Jeans]

An Angel Wears Hightops (Chapter 26)

You know in the movies when someone wakes up from a coma and starts talking immediately and just hops straight out of bed and usually breaks out into a musical number or two before heading home straight away? Yeah, it's nothing like that in real life.

“Dallas! It's me, do you remember me?” I cried, dropping to my knees beside his bed, getting a very confused grimace in return. He opened his mouth to say something, getting frustrated when nothing came out except for a series of unintelligible noises. Eventually, he settled on shaking his head instead.

He didn't know who I was.

“Oh my god.” I whispered, shooting Mickey a panicked look. He looked equally freaked out, probably not able to fully accept that his twin brother was in front of him, and was actually awake on top of that. To be honest, it kind of scared me too. Id gotten so used to seeing him unconscious, it was weird to see him actually functioning for once. It was like watching a corpse come back to life.

“I'm going to vomit.” he said suddenly, turning very pale as he pretty much sprinted out of the room, leaving me alone with Dallas, who was now smirking at me so widely, I thought his face was going to split in half.

“Dallas, it's Hartley. We're best friends, somewhere deep inside, you must recognize me.” I tried again, approaching him. This just made him let out a hoarse noise, which I soon realized was actually a laugh. He was laughing at my suffering.

“I....” he started, getting frustrated when his vocal chords wouldn't work. “J....j...j....oki....n...g.”

“You were joking?! Oh my god, that's so not funny!” I yelled, punching him in the arm lightly, although he still flinched. I guess punching a guy who'd just woken up from a 6 month coma probably wasn't the nicest thing to do, but he'd brought that on himself. Messing with me like that was just cruel. On the plus side though, he was still an asshole, so it looked like his personality was intact. That was a relief.

“So, uh. I guess you want to know what happened to you, eh?” I asked, but he just gave me a confused look, before looking down at himself. His eyes widened considerably as he took in his condition, before looking back up at me in panic, trying to get out of the bed, or maybe rip some of the tubes out of his body. He couldn't, though, of course. Six months in a coma basically guaranteed that he had absolutely no muscle mass left, and therefore couldn't even sit up on his own, let alone sprint out of the room and probably the hospital, too, like he no doubt wanted to do right about now.

“You've been in a coma for the last six months. Uh, its January now, how much do you remember from before the crash?”

He shrugged, before making a zero shape with his thumb and index finger. This apparently took a lot of energy out of him, because he dropped his hand immediately, grimacing in pain.

“You don't remember anything?” I asked in disbelief, but he just shrugged again, looking deep in thought. His eyes opened in realization a few seconds later, and he opened his mouth, once again struggling for words.

“Gr....gr...ad.” he spat, his vocal chords ruined from months of tubes being shoved down his throat constantly. It was heartbreaking to listen to. Dallas had once been the back up singer and bass player for Quinn's band, but it looked like those days were gone. He couldn't even talk anymore, let alone sing.